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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25334107">The Favors You Showered On Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulmate328/pseuds/soulmate328'>soulmate328</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Lengendary Half-Brothers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Platonic Romance, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Years before the Unchaining of Melkor, Years of the Trees</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:07:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25334107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulmate328/pseuds/soulmate328</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fëanor had indeed craved for siblings before Finwë remarried. He had dreamt of a brother that resembles him in feature, dark of hair and fair of face as their father, and a sister that bears a likeness to his mother, small and slender with flowing locks of silver-grey.</p><p>But after Finwë's remarriage, all his imaginations became illusions. He will never have full siblings, but half-siblings - this was even crueler than shattering his hope, for this was twisting it, as a sickening corruption took root. He only visited Findis once on her twelfth begetting day, and when he saw her features that were the replica of Indis, he became determined on his intent on never engaging with his half-siblings.</p><p>It was with such awareness, that he first met Fingolfin on Finwë's begetting day, many years later.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fëanor | Curufinwë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Lengendary Half-Brothers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Favors You Showered On Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            A translation of

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775506">你给予我的宠爱</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulmate328/pseuds/soulmate328">soulmate328</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Because I'm not a native English speaker, the writing may not be that precise or beautiful. You're welcome to point out any mistake or give me any suggestions in the comments!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fëanor had indeed craved for siblings before Finwë remarried. Back then the golden age of the Eldar in the Blessed Land had just begun; free from the darkness and peril of Middle-Earth, they yearned to have many children in their homes. Fëanor had dreamt of a brother that resembles him in feature, dark of hair and fair of face as their father, and a sister that bears a likeness to his mother, small and slender with flowing locks of silver-grey. He imagined sharing his knowledge with them, grow with them in the bliss this land provided, and thus find consolation for his loneliness.</p><p>But after Finwë's remarriage, all his imaginations became illusions. Finwë had given up on Míriel, accepting the fact that she would never return from Mandos, and found his hope in Indis of the Vanyar, shattering Fëanor's hope as well. He will never have full siblings, but half-siblings - this was even crueler than shattering his hope, for this was twisting it, as a sickening corruption took root. He had even left his beloved father, exploring in mountains and forests, dwelling in workshops and forges, to avoid meeting that corrupted imagination. He wed Nerdanel, with her he built his own family and was thus more reluctant to let the children of Indis spoil his new life. He only visited Findis once on her twelfth begetting day, and when he saw her features that were the replica of Indis, he became determined on his intent on never engaging with his half-siblings.</p><p>It was with such awareness, that he first met Fingolfin on Finwë's begetting day, many years later. He swore to Manwë that he avoided all the golden-haired Vanyas in court that had come with Indis, not interacting too much with them or (at the counsel of Nerdanel) starting any conflicts, displaying the bearing worthy of the Crown Prince. But for the Vanyar, their overly formal manners and excessive piety were as common as breathing; Fëanor could no longer remain in that restrained atmosphere, so he secretly excused himself, and retreated to the edge of the court for some fresh air.</p><p>Aquariums were placed by Finwë alongside the edge to honor the Noldor's friendship with the Teleri, containing sea-shells and little fish of various types and colors. Fëanor sighed in relief, rearranging his robe by looking at his reflection, resting his eyes, blinded by all that Vanyarin gold, in the gentle blue of the water, pushing back his slightly sweated hair.</p><p>And suddenly he realized, that his reflection did not raise his hand as he did.</p><p>His eyes widened, his body went stiff. The reflection widened its eyes as well, but only then did Fëanor notice that even their clothes were different. He stared blankly for a moment, and slowly started moving to the left, and his "reflection" moved with him, staring back with probing curiosity. Fëanor then observed that his "reflection" was in fact, much younger than he was. It wasn't until their eyes were unclouded by the aquarium, that Fëanor saw that the other elf's eyes were blue instead of his gray, and his skin was paler as well. But all their other features, their hair, their foreheads, their brows, their noses, their cheeks, and their jaws, were extremely alike. Even though the elf looked barely of age, his stature was already approaching Fëanor's too.</p><p>For a while, they simply gazed into each other, stunned by such queer circumstances. Fëanor sunk into a daze, the childish imagination recalled in his mind: a brother that resembles him in feature, that can speak with him freely and share all his joy and grief. The younger elf's lips were parted in astonishment, but soon, even sooner than Fëanor who was the elder, he blinked, and the light in his eyes settled into a calm glow. The young elf bowed to him deeply, a courtesy of impeccable perfectness.</p><p>"My prince Curufinwë, Your Highness," he said with his head bowed low, and then lifted his gaze ever slightly, peeking at Fëanor with those eyes of tender river waves. "Brother."</p><p>It was exactly that address and those blue eyes that knocked Fëanor back to his senses. In mere seconds his mood turned from daze to fear, to unspeakable sadness and pain, and eventually to utmost resentment. He realized that standing before him was exactly his childish imagination thoroughly twisted, and for the rest of his days every time he gazes upon Ñolofinwë Arakáno, he would recall the true brother that he would never have, and the mother that would never return to him. It was as if Eru was mocking him. <em>See, I granted your wish, except that there was a little mistake.</em></p><p>"I forbid you from addressing me thus," he said to Fingolfin coldly. "Nor do I wish that you approach me in any way at any time. Is that clear?"</p><p>Fingolfin straightened his body slowly, his regard fixed upon Fëanor long and intense. Fëanor felt that he would soon start to tremble, out of rage kindled by those eyes of Indis, or pain caused by that face so resemble his own, he could not say.</p><p>"I have no wish to displease you," said Fingolfin. "But father will want us to be close. I cannot go against his wishes on this matter, it most certainly will upset him."</p><p>Fëanor sneered, "Eager to be Finwë Ñoldóran's obedient son, aren't you?"</p><p>Such acute mockery from Fëanor was unexpected by Fingolfin. His mouth fell open in surprise, "No, I simply..."</p><p>"I do not care about your relationship with father, or whether you could reach his expectations. Just remember, son of Indis, that if you dare approach me, I shall not treat you kindly."</p><p>Fingolfin's gaze changed upon hearing this, from gentle waves to a bottomless sea, vast and determined.</p><p>"It is only right to have respect for one's elder brother, but you are not my king, Your Highness. You and I are both princes of the Noldor, equal in our status, and I need not obey your command," he said unyieldingly. "I understand why you resent me, and have no wish to deepen our conflict, but I will not simply run from you. I shall be at peace with you when necessary, and treat you with respect. There will be no further bothering. You do not wish to increase father's displeasure, do you, brother? He already has many burdens, as the king of a people."</p><p>Fëanor ground his teeth, and gave Fingolfin a feral smile. "Fine, Ñolofinwë. Wise Finwë, father calls you, yet all you know are petty tricks. I will be at peace with you when necessary, but you are still forbidden from addressing me 'brother.' Understood?"</p><p>"Deal," Fingolfin impassively replied.</p><p>In the countless years after, Fëanor had suffered greatly for that conversation. He had never forgotten the first time he saw Fingolfin, the joy of seeing an imagination miraculously coming true. Fingolfin was too perfect, perfectly matched with the image of a brother in his heart, but he was not his brother, and he could never take him as one. That was enough to torture Fëanor.</p><p>The coming of age of Finarfin only increased that torment. Whenever Fëanor returned to Tirion, he would see the brothers clad in the same blue, roaming and laughing in the streets and the court. Sometimes it was Írimë that was with Fingolfin; both had the pale skin of the Vanyar, hand in hand and so close as if glued together. Whenever Fëanor saw those scenes, he was painfully reminded that he would never have brothers or sisters. At some moments, only some, he came across the illusion of Fingolfin smiling and walking towards him, and Fëanor naturally pressed his forehead against his, calling him "brother." But he scolded himself for such illusions, reminding himself that Míriel Þerindë was his mother, and she was gone, and therefore he had no brother.</p><p><em>But Finwë is your father, and his father too.</em> Deep down a voice said to him, but Fëanor ignored it.</p><p>Maedhros grew swiftly, just like his father in his youth. Unlike his father, Maedhros loved to walk in the streets of Tirion, indulging himself in her beauty and prosperity. Fëanor seldom returned to Tirion, but he didn't mind every Noldor having a good look on his firstborn. His copper hair was as fire, his eyes silver-gray like the stars, and he was the brightest wherever he went. Soon Fëanor took him to the court, choosing intentionally the celebration of the birth of Fingolfin's firstborn; he had in his mind to have his tall handsome son claim all the attention.</p><p>And thus he met Fingolfin the second time. Fingolfin had fully grown, his stature was tall and his features mature. His simple blue robe merely covered his knees, exposing the dark boots beneath; on his sleeves and the edge of his robe embroidered the silver leaves of Telperion; around his waist was a white sash decorated with pearls. His hair was bound in intricate braids, diamond pins scattering in them like stars.</p><p>Fingolfin glided across the courtroom in strange circling steps. In one hand he held the Champagne glass between his fingers, the other set at his back, his face smiling, his eyes friendly and bright, engaging in conversations with the Noldor, Vanyar and Teleri in the room. Fëanor had never seen such affectation in any Eldar; the deliberately graceful steps, the way he bore himself, the expression of diplomatic courtesy, and the speech that would induce not even a little displeasure, were the exact reasons that Fëanor considered him false. His plan to boast about his firstborn in front of Fingolfin failed - he did not even wish to greet Fingolfin so that he wouldn't have to hear that courteous way of speaking.</p><p>But before he could realize, Maedhros was already walking towards Fingolfin, with admiration in his eyes. Fingolfin turned to Fëanor's firstborn, stunned shortly by his beauty, then smiled as always. They talked on and on for hours, Maedhros' eyes becoming ever brighter, and in Fingolfin's there was praise. Anairë approached them with Fingon, and Fingolfin even let Maedhros held the infant. Fëanor saw that his firstborn smiled with utter tenderness, playing merrily with the baby in his arms.</p><p>"What did he speak to you?" Fëanor asked him after the feast.</p><p>"You mean Ñolofinwë?" asked Maedhros. Fëanor frowned - were they already close enough to address each other by their names? "You cannot imagine how good a governor he is, father. I've never seen someone so familiar with Tirion; he remembers half of the Noldor's names, and even know what flowers are planted by a family that lives in the outskirts! He said he could place me in charge of translating Vanyarin and Telerin letters, and bring the gifts of the Noldor to the cities in the mountains and at the beach. May I go, father?"</p><p>Fëanor was hesitant to let his son spend too much time with Fingolfin, but his heart softened upon seeing Maedhros' expecting eyes. "Of course, Nelyafinwë. You may go after you finish school."</p><p>"Oh, marvelous!" Maedhros embraced him in excitement. "Thank you so much, father!"</p><p>A dozen years later, Maedhros had already led several Noldorin construction projects in Vanyarin cities, and had stabilized the source of silver and pearls from Alqualondë, thus becoming a renowned emissary in all of Valinor. Fingolfin declared on a festival that a new department called the Foreign Office shall be founded in the government, with Maedhros as the leading diplomat, responsible for all negotiations on academics and trade between the Noldor and the other two peoples. Soon, countless Noldors became loyal followers of the copper-haired prince; with Fingolfin's support, they had almost limitless resources, building embassies, roads, even towns, accomplishing anything they could think of.</p><p>"Ñolofinwë wrote to me, father," Maedhros said one day. "He wants me to bring some of your best loremasters to other cities, to help them adapt to the new Tengwar."</p><p>"Why didn't he come to me?"</p><p>Maedhros smiled, "he said it will be improper of him to meet you in person."</p><p>Deep down, Fëanor felt embarrassed, even displeased. This confused him - he couldn't possibly want Fingolfin to seek him out, could he? Also, Maedhros' behaviors had become similar to Fingolfin's recently, from his speech to his bearing, all had turned him from the careless youth to this matured elf. Fëanor should've been unhappy that his half-brother had such influence on his firstborn, but the bearing suited Maedhros well, leaving him in no mood to object. Besides, his firstborn seemed to had found great joy in little Fingon, and Fëanor could not bear to damage their friendship with the conflict between him and his half-brother.</p><p>So the great linguist grabbed his pen, and with the most formal Tengwar, he wrote a long poem to praise the diplomats, acknowledging their earnest friendship with the other peoples, their spirit of exploration, and their contribution to Tirion. Fëanor finished the poem with only one attempt, but he corrected it over and over until all the rhetorics related to his half-brother were changed into such form that none would recognize that this poem was meant to express his gratitude for Fingolfin. At last, he was content, and sealed the envelope with his sigil and handed it to Maedhros, who couldn't hold back a peal of laughter upon noticing his fingers covered in ink. "Rest assured, father. As far as I know about Ñolofinwë, he will certainly mount your poem in a silver frame."</p><p>"Tell him to use a copper frame," Fëanor mumbled. "It's all your work, not his."</p><p>"I know, father. I know."</p><p>He often thought of that poem in later days, especially when teaching Maglor about rhyme and rhythm. Strangely, he gradually forgot the corrected version of the poem, and could only recall the original one, the version that described his half-brother as "Varda who arranged the constellations," and had lines such as "if Nelyafinwë is the seven-colored light of the holy trees, then Ñolofinwë is the prism." Several times he wanted to at least write down that version and save it, but he could not bring himself to actually do so. No, he thought, if not for the sake of Nelyafinwë, he wouldn't have given any acknowledgment to the children of Indis.</p><p>When Maglor came of age, he often went to Alqualondë in search of counsel from the Telerin singers. At first, he wrote solos, but soon Fëanor discovered that his son was often invited to perform on significant events, even when Maglor at that time was still inexperienced, and would take many years of practice before he became the greatest of singers. Fëanor learned from his father that it was Fingolfin who invited Maglor, usually to social parties, festivals and celebrations, sometimes even concerts prepared specially for him alone, all funded by Fingolfin himself.</p><p>Fëanor wondered how it was that his half-brother had so many resources. Finwë answered that he gained a great amount of wealth thanks to the "currency" invented by Fingolfin himself, and because almost all industries in Tirion were first organized and completed by Fingolfin, he naturally had a share in all the profits. Upon hearing this, Fëanor for the first time investigated Fingolfin's true asset, and found that even many cities and towns were under his name. When Fëanor returned home, the first thing he said to his secretary was, "We need to improve our industries in mining and patents, quickly."</p><p>Utilizing his many skills and knowledge, Fëanor became as rich as his half-brother, and had built a prosperous city centered at his academy. At the same time Maglor, influenced by his experience, turned his interest to the composition of large music works. Symphonies were thus created. Maglor summoned his orchestra and made several successful performances, but when he spoke of them with Fëanor, Maglor always shook his head in disappointment.</p><p>“The site was wrong," he said. "Most of the Teleri prefer the bard-style playing and singing, or casual choruses, and usually perform in an open area like the beach. Of course, you can still make good music if you take the speed and sound of the wind into consideration, but symphonies need a massive, closed area to show all their beauty. But where to find a structure as large as a palace to perform music?"</p><p>Fëanor had already begun to outline a plan in his mind for such a structure, but soon after he received the message that Fingolfin had started a massive project near the beach of Alqualondë, and openly declared that the structure was built for Maglor's music. Fëanor's secondborn and all members of his orchestra were shocked upon learning it, because the structure near the beach was as huge as Finwë's palace, and was no doubt costly to build. Singers were always favored and respected by the Eldar, but never before were they held this important.</p><p>The word "theatre" thus appeared. Fëanor felt as if his half-brother had stolen his achievement, but when he saw the completed theatre in Alqualondë, his great love for art and beauty prevailed over his little jealousy. Standing on the shore was a structure in the shape of opened sea-shells, and on the outer walls were the special colors and patterns of those jewels in the water. Though different from Fëanor's design, it was surely worthy of his praise. Maglor said that though Fingolfin funded the project, it was his secondborn Turgon and Finarfin's firstborn Finrod who designed the theatre and oversaw the construction.</p><p>Maglor's first performance in the theatre was his best symphonic poem by far, <em>The Misty Mountains</em>, which told the tale of Ingwë, Finwë and Elwë overcoming many difficulties and leading their people across the mountains that suddenly barred their way through Middle-Earth. The special structure inside the building enabled the symphony to show all its advantages, and it was a performance that shocked all the audiences. Fëanor was arranged a single box, and when he looked upon his son waving the wand on the stage as if commanding the host of notes to perform for him, his heart was filled with pride.</p><p>And all of a sudden, Fëanor felt a gaze falling upon him, heavy and full of mixed emotions, unlike the peeks of curiosity and admiration that were often given him. Fëanor immediately turned to the source of that gaze, and saw Fingolfin turning away in the distant box. Their first encounter emerged in his mind, and Fëanor felt his heart clench.</p><p>"Let us go and meet Ñolofinwë when it is over," Nerdanel said to him. "We should thank him. It will be best if we could give him something in return."</p><p>They met each other at the theatre's conch-shaped gate. Fëanor was dressed in a robe of dark and red, while Fingolfin wore a silver-white suit, with deep blue velvet on the inside. He wore fine golden ornaments in his hair - possibly getting his inspiration from the gold in Fingon's braids. Anairë stood next to him, a pearl necklace strung on her neck and dressed in a golden gown embroidered with ripened wheat, shaking hands and conversing friendly with Nerdanel, who wore a pure white gown. Nerdanel shot a glance to her husband, and Fëanor coughed and said to Fingolfin with a serious expression on his face, "Thank you, Ñolofinwë, for giving your help to Kanafinwë when he needed it the most. Praise your everlasting generosity, and praise your son's talent in architecture."</p><p>Fingolfin smiled, "You flatter me. It is my pleasure to help Makalaurë's works shine as they should."</p><p>He was more matured than Fëanor last met him, but this change, he discovered in despair, only made them even more alike. They still have differences in the color of skin and eyes, but all their other features were nearly the same, and anyone would recognize them as brothers upon seeing them together. Fingolfin stood there unmoving, staring at Fëanor, and they were like the two sides of a mirror. Fëanor could easily picture them walking down the stairs of the theatre side by side, smiling when turned to each other. He quickly discarded the image. No, he thought, Fingolfin was not his brother, not the brother he wanted. He would not allow himself to indulge in mere fantasies.</p><p>"Words are insufficient to express my gratitude," said Fëanor. "I will give you a gift that is worthy of your kindness. Do not attempt to refuse, half-brother."</p><p>Fingolfin bowed his head slightly, "Then I shall thank you beforehand."</p><p>He labored for months, drawing plans, choosing materials, and finally set to forging. The gift he prepared was a chain of great delicacy, with tanzanites of celeste, aqua, azure, cornflower-blue, and navy set in order among silver and little diamonds, reflecting light with their countless surfaces, and in the middle draped a white pearl the size of an eye. What truly made it special was the skill used when forging it; Fëanor had ascended the Pelorí and captured some light from the spinning flames in Eä, preserving them in the tanzanites with his latest skill of binding light to matter; it made the chain look like a constellation brought down from the heavens.</p><p>Nerdanel had wanted him to deliver this gift on his own, but eventually, Fëanor had Maglor give the chain to Fingolfin. Several days later Fingolfin wrote him a letter, in which he thanked Fëanor's gift, praised its beauty with moderate but earnest rhetorical skills, and wrote that it was pleasant to spend time with Fëanor's sons, and he wished to make this friendship last. The papers were snowy white, the ink a dark dusty blue, the Tengwar an official curlicue a little wilder than Fëanor's formality. The thought of mounting the letter with a golden frame flashed across his mind, but at last, Fëanor kept it normally, putting it in a drawer not far from his reach and took it out for reading now and then, out of nameless purposes.</p><p>Celegorm, having inherited Míriel's silver hair, was a child that surprised Fëanor pleasantly. But unlike Míriel, his hair shone with a golden luster, a vibrant color different from the Vanyarin metallic splendor. He had loved to follow the call of Oromë's horn since his youth, finding joy in woods, creeks, horses, hounds, and archery. He always laughed like thunder, showing his pointed teeth while doing so. Fëanor had loved to travel when he was young as well, so he never minded teaching his son some skills in adventuring. When Celegorm came of age, Caranthir, Curufin, and Aredhel were still teenagers, and they followed their brother/cousin all across Valinor. Sometimes Finrod and his twin brothers joined them as well.</p><p>Of course, Fingolfin would not allow his daughter to wander; when she was fully grown, he soon gave her the mission of exploring the poles of Aman for geographic studies. Aredhel never liked being restrained, but since Fingolfin didn't lock her up in her chamber, she accepted her father's reasonable orders. Celegorm, out of fear for her safety (and curiosity), often accompanied her, carrying some mini-Palantirs of an alternate version to record the topography of the regions they passed through, forged and given to him by Fëanor himself.</p><p>Once the pair rode south and encountered massive spiders in a valley, but instead of returning at once, they explored until they had found the lair, and only then did they ride for Tirion. Oromë himself led his riders to purge the region, and Celegorm and Aredhel joined them as well. Since then, the archery of the third Fëanorian and the silver armor of the white princess became another topic for songs and ballads in all of Valinor.</p><p>When they returned in victory, Fingolfin arranged a great celebration in Tirion. Horse racing was a sport that only appeared since this event; the sense of competition in the Eldar was seldom fierce unless deliberately elicited. As part of the event, Fëanor himself designed a route that started from Tirion to Irmo's garden in the west, and the riders had to overcome all difficulties in their way, a ceremonial design in memory of Celegorm and Aredhel's adventures on their way south. Fingolfin was in charge of setting up stands for the audiences along the route, preparing provisions for both them and the riders, and all this was done in a very short period.</p><p>But Celegorm and Aredhel themselves didn't participate in this first race. They had just returned from their adventure and did not wish to go back on horseback so soon. When all the riders had departed from Tirion's gate, Fëanor found Fingolfin on the stand. He was talking and laughing with Finwë, but when he saw Fëanor he rose at once.</p><p>"Curufinwë," Fingolfin inclined his head.</p><p>"Ñolofinwë," Fëanor nodded and turned to Finwë. "May I have a word with him, father?"</p><p>Finwë seemed surprised and pleased by the amity between his sons. "Of course, my child."</p><p>They walked down the stand together, watching the sand raised by the host of riders in the distance. "Is there something you wish to discuss with me, br...Your Highness?"</p><p>"Your children have brought much joy upon mine," said Fëanor. "I think I must show some sort of...expression, to honor their friendship."</p><p>He led Fingolfin to the stables, walking all the way down to the innermost chamber, and presented him a white steed. Fingolfin was immediately mesmerized by the beautiful creature, his eyes grew dazed in astonishment, his pale fingers ran through the silver mane, caressing the horse's back. Fëanor patted the creature's neck as well, but when their hands were set next to each other, he saw that the veins on the back of Fingolfin's hand formed the same pattern as his own. His fingers twitched upon the discovery.</p><p>"He is beautiful," Fingolfin, still stunned, did not notice the detail.</p><p>"His name is Rochallor. I raised him myself," said Fëanor. "Now, he's yours."</p><p>Fingolfin suited Rochallor well, his Vanyarin paleness matching the white of the creature's furs, making him seem like some divine being instead of a living person. He must've went often with his mother to the cities in the mountains, thought Fëanor. On those slopes, the Vanyar simply needed to open their windows to bathe in the light of the Trees; reach out their hands and they can gather the dew on the leaves, with which they polished themselves until they shone. But Fëanor spent much of his time in the wilderness and the forge, mining ores and crafting gems, and both activities darkened his skin. This contrast nearly disturbed Fëanor - they used to be so alike...but wasn't that likeness the source of his uneasiness? He suddenly wished to take hold of Fingolfin's hand and turn it over, to see if their palmprints were the same as well. Needless to say, he did not actually do so.</p><p>"I will take good care of him," Fingolfin said seriously, then he smiled. "Perhaps I will ride him in the next race."</p><p>"No one can match Turcafinwë," Fëanor raised his chin proudly. "I plan to have the next race start from Alqualondë, all the way to the observatory near the Helcaraxë. The roads there will be slippery because of ice, and this will test the riders' skills without posing a real threat."</p><p>"The fortress is built by you and your apprentices, isn't it? You truly have been to many places."</p><p>"Aman is vast, it is only right to explore her as much as possible."</p><p>They ran out of topics, and an embarrassing silence fell upon them. Fëanor had never had a normal conversation with Fingolfin, and because their relationship was so special, speaking with him is naturally unnatural (even wrong) for Fëanor. Even the great loremaster could not solve the problem. Gazing too long at Fingolfin's pale skin inherited from Indis, he recalled his own mother again, and the resentment of falling from heaven to hell when he and Fingolfin first met. Fingolfin sensed his discontent, turning away his gaze to avoid any provocation, but this only put his jaw in front of Fëanor's eyes, the shape he had seen countless times in mirrors.</p><p>"The chain I gave you," said Fëanor. "I've never seen you wear it."</p><p>"I wear it all the time," said Fingolfin, as he pulled open layers of collars to reveal a few strands of those spinning blue rays.</p><p>Fëanor's eyes widened, "You hide it?"</p><p>"I am father's steward, the organizer. Rarely am I the protagonist in any occasion. Your gift is beautiful, br...Your Highness, but it shines too brightly. If I wear it on feasts and celebrations not meant for myself, I would unjustly steal the light of the main character."</p><p>"How many times have you worn it openly?"</p><p>Fingolfin fell silent, avoiding his eyes.</p><p>Incredible. "Never? You, Wise Finwë, the people's beloved chieftain, never was the protagonist of an occasion? I don't believe you."</p><p>"Your Highness..."</p><p>"Tell me the truth, half-brother," his tone grew unfriendly. "Why are you unwilling to let others see it?"</p><p>Fingolfin hesitated a little longer before he spoke. "The skill of binding light to matter is your mark. Though you're not the only one who knows how to use it now, the craft of this chain is beyond perfection, one can easily see that it comes from your hands. Your deeds are too great, that even now I live in your shadows. I do not wish to wear your mark at my moments."</p><p>"My mark? Do you hear what you're saying? You founded the department in which my firstborn works, you built the theatre in which my secondborn performs, you organized the event of which my third son will be champion sooner or later, but you wouldn't even wear my gift with pride? What is the meaning of this?"</p><p>"Forgive me for being frank, br...Your Highness, but I simply gave them a hand. The glories belong to themselves."</p><p>This is utterly absurd, but Fëanor didn't know how to object, either. "How can you do this, Ñolofinwë? How?"</p><p>Fingolfin's lips parted and closed, and he said, "If...you're dissatisfied, I can give it to Findekáno. My firstborn will make sure it is seen by all."</p><p>"You will give it away?"</p><p>Fingolfin, at a loss for words, lowered his head. "I...I'm sorry, Your Highness."</p><p>A weariness arose within Fëanor, "Say no more. I've given it to you, and you may deal with it however you wish."</p><p>Soon, Fëanor saw the chain around the neck of Fingon, who came in search of his copper-haired cousin. The whole thing was as complex as Fingolfin himself. Fëanor should've been happy to see his work no longer concealed, but a sense of loss watered down the joy. And it was at this moment that he realized that his half-brother was far prouder than he seemed, his mind more unreadable as well.</p><p>But this might just suit them well. Their ultimate conflict was unresolvable due to their parentage, and perhaps it was the distance between them that preserved their precious amity. Fëanor thought, ignoring the sting in his heart.</p><p>Yet before long, this distance was closed once more. Caranthir had long learned about his uncle who was the first to present an economic theory, and as he delved deeper, he started to question many of his arguments, so after he received a doctoral degree he went to Tirion to debate with Fingolfin, about whether the ruler should intervene in the free market. In Fëanor's eyes, their opinions are formed by their experience and character. Fingolfin, as the elder who witnessed the natural birth of the economy, and as one who was used to adopt the opinions of others, tended to believe in the self-regulation of the market. Caranthir, on the other hand, was more arbitrary, and thus considered the ruler's intervention appropriate. The outcome of this debate was a bargain, with Fingolfin promising that if ten years later, the percentage in the economic growth of the city where Caranthir was in charge of the treasury is higher than that of Tirion, then Caranthir will be the new Master of Coin in the capital. (Fingolfin had always been both steward and Master of Coin at the same time)</p><p>"You should've seen that debate, father," Maedhros sipped at his tea, obviously suppressing his laughter. "Brilliant, and hilarious."</p><p>"How so?"</p><p>"You know Carnistir's temper. He gets excited when absorbed in his speech - he truly has surpassed his father on that - even uncle Ñolofinwë had to use all his skills in language to keep the debate from becoming a fight. In fact, I think he agrees with much of what Carnisitir has said, but - this is our mutual opinion - he is too rash and reckless, and needs more time to shoulder greater burdens. That is why uncle set a ten-year limit, he wishes to train Carnistir with that time," Maedhros shook his head and smiled. "Carnistir was unwilling at first; he claimed that one year is enough. Uncle had to provoke him to make him say yes."</p><p>His half-brother's thoughtfulness surprised him again. "Are you sure he meant to train Morifinwë?"</p><p>"He told me himself, father. By the way, do you remember that poem you wrote him? I saw it in his office, he really did mount it. With a golden frame, though," Maedhros touched his chin, contemplating. "This is strange, he kept it normally at first, and only did so recently...a short while after the race. Did something happen?"</p><p>"I'm not sure," Fëanor lied.</p><p>Maedhros gave him an eloquent glance, "I saw Findekáno wearing the chain you gifted uncle. He said uncle gave it to him. Did you quarrel with Ñolofinwë, father?"</p><p>"We did not, Nelyo. I gave it to him, and he may deal with it however he wishes."</p><p>It wasn't until ten years later, on Caranthir's inauguration ceremony, that Fëanor met Fingolfin once more. His half-brother was glowing with happiness, due to Turgon's recent marriage and the birth of Argon. Nerdanel had just given birth to twins, but still, she wouldn't miss her son's important moment; she even brought the statue she made for Elenwë, with hair of gilded gold and gown of silver-white, as the gift to the newlyweds. Finwë himself pinned the badge of office to his grandson's collar, and told Caranthir to be worthy of his responsibility with a proud look on his face. Fingolfin shook hands with him and congratulated him for winning their bargain generously. Fëanor wondered if he should tell his son the truth, noticing Caranthir's arrogant and ignorant face.</p><p>"Congratulations, Ñolofinwë, for the good news that comes from your house," Fëanor said to Fingolfin at the feast after the ceremony. "I heard that you gave this son your own name. You must be very fond of him."</p><p>"Yes, br...Your Highness." Fëanor wasn't sure what to feel. How many years has it been, and his half-brother still remembers the first sentence he said to him when even his elder brother was still no more than a youngster? "I have a feeling that he will become a great chieftain, as this name means, just like Curufinwë has become a great craftsman like you."</p><p>At that time Melkor was not yet unchained, and the concept of heirs was yet to appear. "Becoming a chieftain" usually means building one's own city. Fëanor raised his glass to him sincerely, "May your feeling come true as mine surely did."</p><p>"May Varda's stars brighten Morifinwë's future," Fingolfin toasted.</p><p>"No need to pretend in front of me. Nelyafinwë has told me of your plans for Moryo," Fëanor said frankly, ignoring Fingolfin's awkwardness. "Kanafinwë will perform his premiere of <em>Súlimo and Elentári</em> before long. Take your son and his wife, and Arafinwë and Eärwen, we shall go together."</p><p>Fingolfin had agreed at first, but when the day came only his family arrived at the theatre. "He cannot come. Some of his advisors have disputes with him," said Anairë.</p><p>"Disputes?"</p><p>"Old advisors. They accused Arakáno of forgetting his duties by promoting Morifinwë, claiming that he favored his own kin," Anairë waved her hand. "Old fellows who never like fresh blood, jealous of Morifinwë's talent. His promotion was agreed by all the counselors, not Arakáno alone. No worries, he will soon handle the matter."</p><p>Favor? Fëanor never imagined this word could be related to his half-brother. People said that Finwë's secondborn was fair and just, choosing whoever was worthy, and to Fëanor it was the same - he had differences with Caranthir, but still he gave him the position. Fëanor felt that he should do something, without showing that he "favored" Fingolfin, so he locked himself in his study for a month, and finished two long essays on management studies. One analyzed the risk of structural change, another proved the necessity of improving the government system to keep up with time, published with different pen names, rousing a storm of debate in the city. Fëanor knew that, provoked by the essays, many would start choosing sides on this matter, and his half-brother would know which ones he could use.</p><p>Fingolfin wrote him a letter soon after. Not a word mentioned the two essays; he simply praised Caranthir's enthusiasm and endeavor, and said that his own work recently had been "easier." At first glance, it was nothing but a normal letter of daily affairs (with well-hidden thanks), but at the end Fingolfin signed "Your eternal admirer, Ñolofinwë Arakáno" - Fëanor wondered if his eyes had tricked him when he first read it, and only believed it to be true after several confirmations. He stood up abruptly, having in his mind to go to his forge and craft a frame, but when he took a few steps he realized that it would be too strange to mount a letter of such content on the wall - besides, there were countless letters sent to him that were signed "Your eternal admirer." He paced back and forth in his study, and eventually smoothed out the folds of the papers and pasted them in his notebook.</p><p>But in no time he would discover that such actions were meaningless, for he and his half-brother started exchanging letters frequently. With Caranthir as the bridge, cooperation between their followers became more convenient; they seldom needed to intervene in person, so they carry out their discussions on the paper. Fëanor had already completed the Palantirs at this point, but the distance between them wasn't that far, and also due to some tacit agreement, they kept using letters as their mediators of words; in this way, they could see in which material the papers were made, the color of ink, and the other's handwriting. They wrote about the delivery of raw materials, employment of graduates and development of employees, official change of grammar or the spell of a word, plans for cities, promotions, their children's behaviors, anything except for themselves. Fingolfin's signs developed several variants, such as "Your loyal servant," "Your trustworthy colleague," "Forever reverent," "May endless glory shine upon you." But all of the letters were opened with "Prince Curufinwë Fëanáro." Not that Fëanor had the right to complain, since he didn't even leave his half-brother the emotional intelligence of changing his sign once, but the same blank openings still gave him the sense of being tantalized.</p><p>Their cooperation reached its peak in the following ceremony of the Eldar landing in the Blessed Realm for a full century. It was on this event that Fëanor's fifth son Curufin, the son that inherited the most of his talents, presented his masterpiece - unknown to the elves in Middle-Earth - the Gates of Friendship. They were three archways placed in Tirion, Alqualondë, and Oiolossë, portals that contained all of Curufin's knowledge in the light of The Trees and enabled the Eldar to travel across great distances in no time with the help of that light. The materials, skills, and craftsmen needed to build these gates were extremely complicated, so Fëanor (at the counsel of Nerdanel and Maedhros) had no choice but to invite Fingolfin to his home to discuss the issue with him.</p><p>(The Gates of Friendship is one of many things that Fëanor repents in Mandos. After The Trees died away, Curufin had watched his greatest works reduced to pieces of pretty waste, but Fëanor was so absorbed in grief for the death of his father and the theft of his works, that he forgot that his son was suffering through the same grief as well. The Gates resumed its function after the rise of the sun and the moon, but Curufin, far away in Middle-Earth, shall not witness it in his first life.)</p><p>The day Fingolfin brought his team to his house, Fëanor clothed himself in a formal robe of Noldorin royalty, and welcomed his half-brother at his gate. Fingolfin was dressed in the same style (with the red changed into blue), dismounting from Rochallor and approached him in steady steps. Fingon was putting down their luggage at the back, and at Fingolfin's side was a youth no older than fifteen, wearing similar clothes and similar features, staring at Fëanor with big blue eyes.</p><p>"Ñolofinwë."</p><p>"Curufinwë," Fingolfin bowed, and patted the youth on his shoulder. "Arakáno, this is Crown Prince Curufinwë Fëanáro."</p><p>"Your Highness," Argon bowed courteously as his father did, but still his eyes switched between Fëanor and Fingolfin with disbelief.</p><p>Argon was almost the duplicate of his father in his youth, rousing the memory of his miraculous first encounter with Fingolfin in Fëanor's mind. He turned away, not allowing Fingolfin to notice the mixed feelings on his face. "The journey must have exhausted you. Come in and rest, and we shall talk business later."</p><p>"Thank you, Your Highness, for your hospitality," Fingolfin said and followed. Fëanor heard Argon whispering to his father, "Are you twins like cousin Angaráto and Ambaráto?" Fingolfin replied, "No, Arakáno," and gave no further explanations, but Argon was smart enough to not press the matter on this occasion.</p><p>The next day, when they were seated in the meeting room with Fëanor and Fingolfin at the head of the table, every elf had glanced at them with strange eyes for at least once. There was not a single elf here who's unaware of their relationship, which made their likeness all the more incredible. Besides, Fëanor and Fingolfin were rarely present on the same occasion, and their followers were unprepared to see the other party's leader having the same face like theirs. Noticing the strange gazes, they talked about material delivery and personnel assignment with as much control as they could muster, and endured until the meeting was over.</p><p>Fëanor strolled with Fingolfin to Nerdanel's garden, a large labyrinthine region of combined plants and statues, beautiful beyond measure. Fingolfin was clearly fond of the garden, and with a smile on his lips he searched for a topic. Without business, there seemed to be nothing left for them to talk about, even in their letters.</p><p>"Take a look at this," Fëanor pointed at a bunch of little lilac flowers growing in the palm of a stone woman, picked one and put it in his mouth, tasting the gentle sour that spread on his tongue. "Try it. It is Nerdanel's invention."</p><p>Fingolfin reached out his hand, those fingers of white jade picked a flower tenderly, placing it between his teeth and chewed with great care. Fëanor watched his pinkish lips, and felt that they were softer than the petals - he suddenly noticed his back sweating, and turned away his gaze in haste. He certainly had no such fingers or lips; his hands were calloused with years of forging, fingers slender and strong like the branches of an ancient tree, clutch with but a little strength, his half-brother's pen-holding fingers would start to bruise.</p><p>Speaking of holding pens. "You seemed to have put much thought on the letters you wrote me. Addressing yourself with various names, while addressing me with only one."</p><p>"I do not think you need me to flatter you," Fingolfin smiled. "There must at least ten thousand Eldar who do it every day."</p><p>"You sure you weren't flattering me with those signs of yours?"</p><p>"I'm afraid that is the most implicit way I could manage with my self-control," Fingolfin half-joked. "I couldn't possibly address you as 'My Beloved Brother,' could I?"</p><p>Fëanor's shoulders tensed. Fingolfin remained silent, walking with him towards the mansion in the distance. Fëanor breathed deeply, wavering between "So the steward of the Noldor still remember the angry request of a child?" and "You must understand, Ñolofinwë, that I cannot concede on certain matters, even if I wanted to." But at last he simply said, "You...did nothing wrong, Ñolofinwë."</p><p>"Thank you," Fingolfin replied, short and calm.</p><p>They dined together that night, Fëanor with his sons, Fingolfin with Fingon and Argon. Argon behaved like a grown elf despite his age, in addition to the friendly conversations between Fingon and Maedhros, the dinner was peaceful enough. Argon was still amazed by the likeness between Fëanor and Fingolfin, though. He looked around, and asked Fëanor carefully, "Your Highness, I think I haven't seen cousin Pityafinwë and Telufinwë, nor Lady Nerdanel. Where have they gone?"</p><p>"Nerdanel took them to Aulë's forge for a visit. They will be back in a few days," said Fëanor.</p><p>Argon seemed encouraged by the solemn prince's friendly reply, "Findekáno told me that they're so alike, even you and Lady Nerdanel couldn't distinguish them."</p><p>Fëanor laughed, "They were difficult to tell apart when they were young. But now that they've grown older, you can see that one of them has darker hair than the other, which made things much easier."</p><p>Argon laughed as well, "Did grandfather ever mixed you and father up when you were young?"</p><p>The sound of silverware stopped for a moment. Celegorm and Curufin peeked at their father's face, and Caranthir looked as if he's going to teach his cousin a lesson himself, luckily stopped by Maglor; Maedhros was just suppressing his laughter. In truth, Fëanor's temper wasn't so bad as to be provoked by a child, even if the topic was his taboo; but as soon as Argon said those words, Fingolfin fixed his eyes upon him with a gaze calm and intense. Fëanor looked back, and at that moment they shared their unspoken longing and pain, their struggles and worries, their stubborn pride and principles, those resulted guilt and loss.</p><p>So Fëanor endured the sting in his chest, and said to Argon, "Of course, Arakáno."</p><p>The Fëanorians were perhaps far more frightened than little Argon. "Really?" Argon blinked.</p><p>"Yes. We often change our clothes, so that even our father couldn't tell us apart. Sometimes your father didn't want to do his homework, so I made eye contacts to change the color of my irises, powdered my skin white, and sat in your father's chamber to do his homework for him, to trick the servants." For the first time in his life, Fëanor tasted the joy of lying.</p><p>"Then why aren't you living in Tirion now?" Argon asked. "Why did you leave father?"</p><p>"Because...we grew up, Arakáno," said Fëanor. "We have to write our own homework, do our own jobs. We can't depend on each other forever."</p><p>Argon seemed satisfied with the explanation, and nodded his head heavily, "Father always said I must do the homework on my own."</p><p>Fëanor looked to Fingolfin. His half-brother's head was lowered, his cheeks pale and his lips pursed into a thin line. Fëanor could not bear to look at his expression, and dropped his gaze on the food in his plate as well. Everything he said had never happened, they never depended on each other, and he never left him - they were never together in the first place. Those words Fëanor said to Argon were perhaps like salt rubbed on wounds for Fingolfin. Nevertheless, Fëanor had said them, to satisfy a little of his fantasy through the years, the imagination that was always within reach, yet thoroughly corrupted.</p><p>That night Fëanor twisted and turned in his bed, thinking about what Fingolfin might feel when he completed the false stories of their past to Argon, just to meet his half-brother's temporary unreason. On a lonely night such as this, the only thing that comforted Fëanor was perhaps the fact that he, as the motherless child, certainly had suffered more than his half-brother. The parts that could not be comforted couldn't accuse his mother or father, and blamed Iluvatar instead, however in vain - Ñolofinwë Arakáno should've been my full brother, but you, benevolent Allfather, your Music mixed with discords had ruined everything.</p><p>Curufin's masterpiece finished successfully, and Fingolfin departed with his team, leaving Fëanor recalling his lies to Argon over and over when he welcomed his twins home. Nothing escaped the eyes of Nerdanel, but she simply said, "Even in this Blessed Land, our life will not be perfect, you know this better than anyone. If we do not go get what makes us happy, we will suffer for all eternity."</p><p>Fëanor understood, and didn't understand. He only knew that Fingolfin was gone, and he would no longer be tortured by the face that so resembled his own. Yet not long after, he met his half-brother again, this time in Fingolfin's house. Celebrimbor was born, and as the first grandchild in the House of Fëanor, he was showered by favors. Fëanor took him to court as soon as he reached the age of seven, and Curufin announced his name as Curufinwë in front of the crowd. The inheritance of this name thus became a legend told in all of Valinor. Because Celebrimbor was the third Curufinwë, Fingolfin invited all three of the Elvish clans in Valinor to attend a feast, situated in his own house. To Fëanor's surprise, Fingolfin, as the steward, did not live in the palace. He built his own house on the mountainside of Pelorí, close to both Tirion and the cities of his mother's people.</p><p>It was a feast that was beautiful not because of any splendid decorations, but only because of its participants. Fëanor had never like the Vanyar, but when he stepped inside Fingolfin's mansion with his family, seeing elves with hair of dark, brown, red, gold, and silver gathering together in one place, his stereotypes were belittled by his awe. Fingolfin welcomed them and led them into the hall, introducing Celebrimbor to Finwë, Findis, Írimë, and Finarfin, leaving enough time for them to be amazed by the talent, features, and name that passed down for three generations. Celebrimbor wasn't exactly shy, but still he was stunned by such grand occasion; Fingolfin put him under the care of Argon and Idril so that the adults could enjoy their time without any worries.</p><p>"Arakáno told me that he will name his son Arakáno when he has one, and then there will be three Arakános," Fingolfin said in delight. "He has grown very admiring of you, br...Curufinwë."</p><p>"You sure it is admiration, instead of not wanting the House of Ñolofinwë to be left behind by the House of Fëanáro?"</p><p>"Don't say that, Curufinwë. He truly does admire you, just like everyone else."</p><p>"What, did you actually told him that we're good brothers that grew up together?" Fëanor said half-jokingly.</p><p>Fingolfin turned away, his throat rolling up and down.</p><p>"I told him everything, Curufinwë. He can't be a child forever."</p><p>"Is that so. How did you explain to him the things I said then?"</p><p>"I said that although we weren't as close as you described, you're still the Crown Prince, and you would not humiliate others openly or displease your guests in your own house."</p><p>"So that is what you think is the reason why I said so? To save faces?"</p><p>Fingolfin stopped before saying, "You couldn't possibly have said those words with joy."</p><p>Fëanor's rising temper cooled, and left a stream of choking dark smoke as always. Indeed, it was only logical that Fëanáro, son of Míriel, could never pretend to be close to a son of Indis and be happy for it. But...he didn't even have the strength to argue with himself.</p><p>"Come," to change the topic, Fëanor took out the thing he prepared. "This is for you."</p><p>He opened the box he brought, within it was a Palantir. But unlike usual Palantirs, the power this one contains was much greater.</p><p>"I made it especially for you. The view of this stone covers all of Valinor, and apart from seeing, you can also hear, smell and feel everything your willpower reach," said Fëanor. "This will increase your might for a thousand folds, and you, as its user, shall need greater wisdom as well. Remember, it has its own will; do not attempt to overstep the boundaries of your duty, or it will reject you on its own."</p><p>Fingolfin held the Palantir, his eyes reflecting the ever-changing light in the stone due to the shifting of space; it was as if he was holding Eä in his hands. He lifted his gaze, "Are you truly willing to let me have this power? Me, son of Indis, your half-brother?"</p><p>"Power is what you deserve, and has nothing to do with my opinions or expectations for you," Fëanor turned away, "Use it well, Arakáno."</p><p>He took a few steps before Fingolfin asked, "What is your expectation for me?"</p><p>"That is none of your concern," Fëanor said, annoyed.</p><p>He heard Fingolfin setting down the Palantir, walking to his back. He could feel the thickness of his half-brother's existence, their blood boiling in their veins as if calling to each other, making Fëanor's shoulders shiver. They had never been this close since their first encounter. Fëanor wondered if his half-brother felt the same, the mingled joy and pain of losing control.</p><p>"I accept this gift, Curufinwë, with all my gratitude," said Fingolfin. "But it is not my expectations for you, either. Power I can gain on my own, even without your craftsmanship. There is only one thing that I want from you, but you will never bestow it upon me generously."</p><p>For a while Fëanor simply stood unmoving, and moments later he walked away without a word. When he was talking to Finwë at the side, he glanced at the silver-blue figure at the center of the hall, surrounded by Eldar with hair dark, brown, red, gold, and silver. <em>You do not need me to bestow that thing upon you, half-brother.</em> Fëanor thought to himself.</p><p>The feast came to an end, and they returned to their homes to continue their life. At last, three years after the feast, Galadriel ended Celegorm's undefeatable legend in the ninth horse race, and the youngest of Fëanor's children, his auburn-haired twins, had come of age. Nerdanel clad them in the same clothing - robes of mint green gauze, embroidered with silvery veins of leaves - as she gave them the same name, and Fëanor braided their russet hair with his own hands, weaving within them fine ornaments of gold.</p><p>"Cousin Ambaráto promised to give me a pearl the day I come of age," said Amras.</p><p>"You're stupid," said Amrod. "His mother is the princess of Alqualondë, he must have pearls as many as the sand on the beach. He was just playing with you."</p><p>"Ambarussa, don't say that to your brother," Nerdanel called from her dresser.</p><p>"But he said it will be a golden pearl, with spiral patterns of fire on the surface, and the size of a pigeon egg!" Amras protested. "That's rare enough!"</p><p>"Fine, fine," Amrod shook his head. "You're receiving gifts while I'm giving one. A statue for cousin Angaráto."</p><p>"But they're twins, what if other people mistake it for Ambaráto?"</p><p>"No, the statue is Lady Eldalótë. Angaráto had asked me to make him one."</p><p>Both of the twins loved the art of sculpting like their mother, but Amrod favored clay while Amras favored stone. Fëanor finished the final braid for Amras, patting on his shoulder, "Alright Telvo, little bastards. Do whatever you wish before we leave, just don't get your clothes soiled."</p><p>The twins hopped out of the house. Nerdanel arranged her silver-grey dress, pressing a kiss to Fëanor's lips. "Seven children," she smiled. "We've made it."</p><p>"No daughter, though," Fëanor said regretfully.</p><p>"It is a pity. But twins aren't so bad, are they?"</p><p>"Absolutely. The older ones seemed to want a sister too, but they like Ambarussa very much."</p><p>"Twins are rare among the Eldar," Nerdanel pushed his hair behind his ear. "Eru's Music has endless changes, that the same note seldom appears twice."</p><p>Twins, brothers, aquarium, reflection. Fëanor's eyes darkened. "Now, get yourself ready," Nerdanel urged. "We shall meet your father, and your half-siblings."</p><p>Fëanor returned to his chamber and opened his wardrobe; when he reached for his crimson robe, he saw his twins playing in the garden, and hesitated.</p><p>He struggled and trembled, ashamed and resentful, and put away the fiery garments that were his mark. <em>My sons can have their twin, their brothers,</em> Fëanor said to himself in despair. <em>Just this once, mother, let me have a brother, too. Let me pretend to have a brother.</em></p><p>He dressed himself a robe of dark navy, and wore a circlet of silver. <em>No one will notice,</em> Fëanor thought to himself, <em>Ñolofinwë's color is sapphire. No one will think Curufinwë Fëanáro is catering his half-brother. Just this once, mother. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.</em></p><p>He led his twins into the court; Amrod and Amras grinned to every Eldar that looked at them, and the image of Fëanorians made a rare shift from proud to lovely. Fëanor glanced around the court, seeing Findis and Írimë and their mother, the golden heads of the House of Finarfin, even Anairë, and all of Fingolfin's children - dashing Fingon, stoic Turgon, silvery Aredhel, young Argon - but there was no sight of Fingolfin, the figure clad in blue and silver, the elf he threw away his reason today to imitate.</p><p>"Where is Ñolofinwë?" He asked in bewilderment. "I've never seen him unpunctual."</p><p>"He's here already, Fëanáro," Nerdanel said smiling, pointing to Finwë's side. "Look, there he is."</p><p>Fëanor didn't recognize his half-brother until he turned towards him, for he never saw that familiar silver-blue.</p><p>His half-brother was wearing a burgundy suit, his hair pulled up in a ponytail, loosely bound by a golden circlet. Buttons of black diamond lined his vest, his silken coat merely covered his hips, exposing his long legs wrapped in dark red trousers. Fingolfin saw Fëanor, saw his half-brother's robe of navy blue, and his pupils contracted. As for Fëanor, in his mind he relived the moment they first met on each side of the aquarium, the total blankness of discovering the impossible.</p><p>"Go to him, Fëanáro," Nerdanel urged softly.</p><p>Fëanor walked towards him, and Fingolfin walked down the stairs to him as well. At first, they faced each other in silence, continuing their everlasting embarrassment. Then Fëanor spoke. "You look...special today, half-brother."</p><p>"So do you, Your Highness."</p><p>Laughter erupted from the crowd surrounding Amrod and Amras, drawing their attention temporarily; but soon their eyes returned to focus on each other.</p><p>"Your greatest creations, Your Highness," Fingolfin said, the corners of his lips lifted, yet his eyes were hazy with sadness, "are these seven jewels of the First House. Their presence has added to the glory of Valinor."</p><p>"And you have added to their glory, made them very happy. You and your children."</p><p>"I know it will please you," said Fingolfin. There was a helplessness in his voice, as years of careful disguise fell away.</p><p>Fëanor felt his palm sweating. Are they making their confessions? "I want you to perform the rite for Ambarussa," he said. "For the little one."</p><p>"Wha...I..." Fingolfin was puzzled for a moment. "It will be my pleasure, br...Your Highness."</p><p>"I'll take care of the older one," said Fëanor.</p><p>On the ceremony they stood side by side in front of the Ambarussas, setting the circlets of adulthood on their heads. The twins were grinning as their eyes shifted between Fëanor and Fingolfin, clearly amused by the sight of exchanging colors but still wearing the same face. <em>It </em>is<em> amusing,</em> Fëanor thought, <em>yet the reason why I (we?) did so no longer permitted me (us?) to indulge in such little pleasures.</em></p><p>They spoke no more to each other on the celebration, but walked together, and neither asked to leave. At a certain point, they strolled to the balcony, unaware of who was the one in lead. Fingolfin's burgundy coat shimmered as he moved, reflecting the light in Fëanor's eyes, while his sleeves of navy blue brushed over Fingolfin's elbow gently. The light of the Trees entwined above their heads, gold and silver tangled into streams, circling the half-brothers in their embrace.</p><p>Fëanor settled his glass down on the fence, for his fingers were already too sweaty and weak to hold it. Fingolfin put his glass down as well, right beside Fëanor's. Very slowly he turned and gazed into Fëanor's eyes.</p><p><em>Now is the time,</em> Fëanor thought, as he looked at those deep blue eyes. He felt his own eyes dampening, but he burned them dry with his inner fire. <em>Call me brother, and I'll call you the same. Reach for me, and I will embrace you. Touch my face and I will kiss you. Say you've always loved me, and I will love you. Take, and I am yours.</em></p><p>Ages passed, or mere seconds. Fingolfin bowed, and left.</p><p>A burning sting beated behind his eyes, but Fëanor endured it, holding up his head as always. It wasn't until he returned home to his chamber, removed his navy blue robe, and saw Nerdanel's concerning eyes, that the emotions finally exploded.</p><p>Fëanor collapsed on the bed, and wept into his hands.</p><p>Years later, when he chewed on past sorrows at Námo's feet, even the tears he shed that night tasted sweet.</p><p> </p><p>Words of the completion of the Silmarils soon reached every corner of Tirion. Fingolfin heard rumors, saying that they're white, red, blue, some said they're gold and silver like the light of the Trees. Fëanor had locked himself in a distant house for five years to forge the Silmarils, and none had ever met him during that time. Fingolfin knew that Fëanor, ever eager to share his works, would soon take the jewels to Tirion for everyone's eyes; so he prepared a welcome party, not grand, but enough to lead the Crown Prince who shut himself from the world too long back to reality.</p><p>Fëanor came alone, literally. Fingolfin didn't wish to be too formal, so he wore a simple white robe, standing in wait beside Finwë. He stared at the gateway, fingers twisted together, heart beating franticly in anticipation and longing. He had not seen Fëanor since Ambarussa came of age, and no letter sent to him received any reply, but their relationship forbade Fingolfin to go searching for his half-brother for no purpose (or simply out of yearning). He could only wait, for every formal occasion, to spend time with the Crown Prince with utmost caution.</p><p>Fëanor strode into the court. He wore a dark robe with silver edges, his hair undecorated except for the circlet on which the three jewels rested. Gasps and praises rose and fell, and Fingolfin was shortly amazed by the Silmarils' splendor as well, but even more beautiful was Fëanor's face lit by that light.</p><p>"My firstborn, my best son," Finwë spread his arms and held Fëanor tight. "The beauty you crafted is unequaled."</p><p>"All beauty serve as your foil, father," said Fëanor. His face was strangely relaxed, like the trance after heavy labors, like the daze after great joy. He turned to Fingolfin and smiled - a sincere, tender smile. Fingolfin was petrified. When had Fëanor ever given him a smile such as this?</p><p>He waited until all the admirers had finished speaking to Fëanor to walk towards him. Fëanor's gray eyes were reflecting the light of the Silmarils, like gems with a thousand surfaces. His eyes never left Fingolfin as soon as they fixed upon him once more. "Brother," he said.</p><p>This is the second miracle today. "Your Highness," Fingolfin dared not overstep. "Congratulations on completing such a masterpiece."</p><p>"Too many people here, Ñolofinwë," said Fëanor. "We shall speak outside."</p><p>Telperion was shining, and Fëanor led him to the godswood in the palace, where there was nothing except for trees, birds, and streams. Slivery light showered on them through the leaves, and the Silmarils on Fëanor's head changed into a gentle white, as if responding to the source of their light.</p><p>"I think I should do something to celebrate the birth of these treasures," said Fingolfin. "A carnival, perhaps? We can march from Alqualondë to Tirion, pass the foot of the mountains to pay a visit to the Vanyar's cities, and then back to Tirion again. You'd like more people to see your work, wouldn't you?"</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>"If you agree to attend, I can start planning now."</p><p>Fëanor smiled again, drunk and dreamy. "Your favors are always heavy to bear, brother."</p><p>Fingolfin felt himself blushing. "I...I only wish that you get the...reward that you deserve. What I did is nothing compared to the greatness you achieved."</p><p>"The reward I deserve?" Fëanor whispered. "What about the reward I want?"</p><p>"Your Highness?"</p><p>"Do not address me as such!" Fëanor shouted. Fingolfin backed off a few steps, frightened by the sudden fury, but Fëanor took hold of his wrists and pulled him back. "Don't walk away from me, Ñolofinwë. Come to me."</p><p>Fëanor's arms encircled his waist, embracing him tightly, as intimate as Finwë did moments ago. This is the third miracle today, and this time the level of impossibility surpassed that of the former two combined. Fingolfin dared not move an inch - their cheeks were pressed together, Fëanor's breaths blowing on his nose, his body hot as flames. Subconsciously, Fingolfin embraced him in return, and found himself trembling from head to toe.</p><p>"I never asked you to do any of those things for me," Fëanor said in his ear. "But if I ask, will you do it?"</p><p>"What are you doing, Fëanáro?" Fingolfin asked in a panic. He overstepped again. He should've called him Curufinwë.</p><p>"Taking the reward I want."</p><p>Fëanor straightened himself, looking down at Fingolfin in his arms. His eyes glittered - wait, not the light of the Silmarils, but water? His breaths blew on Fingolfin's lips now, so he closed his eyes and circled his arms around Fëanor's neck. This is indeed the reality, for he could not even dream of something like this, but true or no, let all this continue. Here no one else was around, not his followers, not his people or his mother, no one. Just this once, he wouldn't have to guard his honor or defend his mother, returning to the youth to long for a touch from the elf he admired.</p><p>"Arakáno," Fëanor called, his voice a little hoarse. Fingolfin tasted bitterness on the tip his tongue - was it his brother's tears? He dared not open his eyes, but he reached out his hands to hold the other's face, kissing away the tears. He had always known, ever since he took Argon to his brother's house, that they shared the same longing and sorrow. But he was too timid, too cautious, unwilling to want more, in case he broke their hard-won peace built by distance. He knew that after they left the godswood, he would continue his concerns, which was what made this moment precious beyond measure.</p><p>"I'm yours, Fëanáro," he soothed his brother in a deep, whispering voice. "I'm yours now. I'll give you anything. It's what you deserve."</p><p>"No, it's what I want," Fëanor retorted. "Look at me, Arakáno."</p><p>Fingolfin opened his eyes. Fëanor's eyes were already dry, but the emotions within hadn't eased a bit. He even huddled Fingolfin closer.</p><p>"I went to Lórien before I came here," said Fëanor. "To visit my mother."</p><p>"You must want her to be the first to witness your work," Fingolfin said carefully.</p><p>"No," Fëanor caressed his hair. "I went to ask for forgiveness."</p><p>Forgive him for what? Fingolfin got his answer in Fëanor's thoughts. Forgive him for calling Fingolfin "brother."</p><p>"I must not do that again, Ñolofinwë," he said. "No one remembers Míriel Þerindë now. I mustn't forget her. We share the same father, but she did not bear you, so I cannot admit that you're my full brother."</p><p>"I understand, Fëanáro."</p><p>"You do not, Ñolofinwë!" Fëanor shook him heavily. "You should've been my full brother, you should've come from the same womb as I did, but no! You should've been, but you're not!"</p><p>"I'm not," said Fingolfin. "I am the son of Indis."</p><p>Fëanor shut his eyes tightly upon hearing it. "Call me brother."</p><p>"Brother."</p><p>"More lovingly. As if it's real."</p><p>Fingolfin nuzzled his jaw with his lips. "Fëanáro, my brother. My most beloved brother."</p><p>Fëanor bent over his head, his forehead pressed to his, their noses touching, their bodies entwining, their lips a hair away from each other. Love and lust beated in their veins, boom, boom, boom, like the drums of the Music.</p><p>After a long time - he wasn't sure how long - Fingolfin felt the flame in his arms had left him. He lifted his eyelids, seeing the light of the Silmarils fading in the distance, but he had no strength to chase it. He collapsed in the shrubs, touching his lips, as if Fëanor had truly kissed him. "Brother," he murmured.</p><p>Soon everything will return to normal. On the carnival soon after, Fingolfin would lead the procession on Rochallor at the very front, lifting his head to gaze upon Fëanor on the topmost platform of the float, wearing the Silmarils on his head. They would celebrate Celebrimbor's coming of age in Tirion, and the third Curufinwë would give his granduncle a ring of gold and sapphire as a gift, saying that his grandfather appreciated him very much. Soon, Melkor would be released, and their love would be twisted by malicious lies. They would exchange a thousand kisses in bed, taking pleasure from each other's body, but their hearts would be estranged, and never again will they shower each other with their pure favors.</p><p>Years later, when Fingolfin succeeded the crown at Lake Mithrim, watching the two Houses reconciled, it wasn't the intimacies that he recalled, but the unfinished kiss between him and his glorious brother, in the godswood bathed in silvery light.</p>
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